


Bright Horizons

by EmilyElm



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: All the women are loved in this, Apparently still obsessed with 1st Season Hannigram, F/M, Leaving Minnesota, M/M, Writing is therapy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-03
Updated: 2018-11-24
Packaged: 2019-07-24 18:46:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16181006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmilyElm/pseuds/EmilyElm
Summary: Will and Hannibal use necessary measures to protect Abigail.





	1. Hazy with a bit of rain

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GulliverJ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GulliverJ/gifts), [Nia_Kantorka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nia_Kantorka/gifts), [Cat_Eyes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cat_Eyes/gifts).



> Years ago, I wanted to gift a fic to those who left such sweet comments for me. I wrote something that was 30 pages long, but then got too busy to edit. I'm still editing it, but felt this start is something I could live with publishing and then the rest will come when it comes. Please know that I have thought of you often and your kind words have been something I have carried over the past few years. Many thanks.

Will knows Hannibal watches over him while he sleeps. He gathers the blanket around him, snuggling against the scratchy wool, and takes stock of how warm and odd that thought made him feel. He chances a look at his watchman and blinks.

Hannibal stands in the window, poised, silent, bathed in shadows. He could be a painting for the line that he presents, the aesthetic -- so striking that Will’s breath is taken away. 

“Hannibal,” Will calls out, breathy and pained. 

Hannibal swivels around, revealing Abigail’s chart in his hands. Like Will, he has suspected Abigail had awakened from her coma and was also taking stock of her situation. And waiting for a sign that she was indeed safe.

Will can’t blame her. Neither can Hannibal. They decided over breakfast to give her the security she craved. It would require sacrifice and commitment from them both, but Hannibal did not take much convincing. Although Will went on and on about how they would have to break him before they dragged Abigail to trial or jail or the BSHCI. 

Hannibal agreed to everything. With the only caveat that Will promised to take a nap. He had not been getting much sleep, becoming a bit of a watchman himself around her. 

Hannibal crosses over to him, like he’s some sleeping beauty, and gets on bended knee. For a moment, Will isn’t sure if this is part of the act or… if this is now their life? He should know this, like he knows Abigail was the lure. And then the stage whisper begins:

“I hope you’ve slept on what we talked about,” Hannibal starts.

Will smiles. Hannibal’s a good actor. Just… in general, one of the good ones.

“I have,” Will turns his body towards Hannibal and draws him closer. “I want her to come back with us. Whatever it takes.”

“Agreed,” Hannibal rises and Will’s eyes widen. Hannibal is leaning over him and now Will doesn’t know what to do with his body. His arms and hands in particular seem inclined to embrace him. Begging for connection.

As if on cue, Nurse Barb walks in. She is tightly wound from all the stress she’s dealing with at work, but relaxes whenever she walks into Abigail’s room. She knows Abigail has others looking out for her and is in good care. But this brazen display worries Will. 

Hannibal pulls away, as if reading Will’s thoughts. He smooths down his shirt and approaches Barb with a half-embarrassed grin. Barb is practically giving him a thumb’s up, into it. Seeing them together, making plans for this girl, is the best part of her day. Especially considering the state of the world. 

“I don’t understand why your girl isn’t up by now,” Barb complains. 

Hannibal shrugs with her. Pretending Abigail is a mystery when he sees right through her. Will drapes himself against Abigail’s bedrail and sees a flutter of her eyelids. 

“There she is,” Will tells them. 

Abigail opens her eyes, and her first sight is of Hannibal and Will leaning towards her on either side of the bed. They have her hands in their hands and they are delighted with this turn of events. And if Barb could take a picture, which is against regulations, but still, if she could, she’d swear they looked like family.

 

|||

 

Many say there is a lost chapter in the saga between Will Graham and Hannibal Lecter. 

For those thrill-seekers, it begins with Abigail Hobbs’ transfer to Baltimore. A pull of the thread and the whole hospitalization tale unravels. 

Truth be told, Will Graham would not leave Minnesota until Abigail Hobbs woke up. There is plenty of evidence around this fact. Namely, that Dr. Alana Bloom subbed in for Will Graham’s class at Quantico. And secondly, Hannibal Lecter canceled his appointments for a full two weeks to support Will Graham’s fight to not give Abigail over to the FBI.

How did Will pull off this feat? What most people don’t know is that nurses can call the shots in small area hospitals. And one nurse in particular had been watching who remained on the Abigail Hobbs’ watch. And it wasn’t the FBI. Will and Hannibal had not even returned to their motel since she’d been admitted.

Barb liked that about them. She liked good people. Not a lotta good guys in the world and definitely not a lotta good guys who had shown an iota of concern for a traumatized girl. And Abigail Hobbs was not going to have an easy go moving forward in life. Their vigil, which she saw on every one of her shifts, touched her. 

Freddie Lounds, upon interviewing Barb, would assume that it was a clerical error that had Will Graham and Hannibal Lecter checked as Abigail’s relatives. Will could pass as maybe a brother or an uncle. Hannibal of course could be written down as her father.

But no. The paperwork clearly checked them both as Abigail’s fathers.

So Barb, who was outside on her break smoking, was approached to clarify the error on her paperwork. Was it a case of mistaken identity? She mulled over her answer, wondering what had set her off to smoke again and the correlation between that and the length of time it’s been since she’s taken a real vacation. Unbeknownst to Barb, Hannibal had set up a fund that would pay for the rest of nursing school and left an anonymous gift for a spa package that would be the talk of the nursing station for years to come. 

“It wasn’t a mistake,” Barb drawled, taking a long drag on her smoke. 

And so a closer inspection was in order of the copy of the copy of the original release form and that’s when one intrepid reporter noticed that in explanation of who Will and Hannibal were to each other was the word “husbands”. 

In Hannibal’s handwriting. He’d filled out his name as “Hannibal Lecter Graham” and listed his address under Wolf Trap, same as above. Will may have signed his portion of the document without even noticing or reading Hannibal’s fine print. It only took one trip to discover the public records that had their marriage certificate on file. 

The only person who had to be made aware of it, by fax no less, was Alana Bloom. When confronted with the paperwork, it was a point of shame for her. She admitted she asked Hannibal about it. And was given a terse, “It happened.” 

She had never seen him so protective. So unprofessional. So unlike himself. But he swore he had never felt more sure of a decision in his life and he called in a favor she owed him.

Years before, after she had graduated Johns Hopkins, she had lingered after one of his dinner parties. And that begat many whispers about an affair between them which he denied on behalf of her honor and reputation. It was her first lesson in discretion and the beginning of a series of lies she would weave when it came to Doctor Lecter Graham.

When pressed, upon dwelling about it years later when it all went sideways, Alana would dare speak the truth: “Hannibal was obsessed.”

Freddie noted that Alana never said Will Graham’s name.

 

|||

 

“Will,” Hannibal calls out, breathy and needy.

Will pulls away from Abigail being loaded on a stretcher onto their private plane. He can’t believe she’s alive. He can’t believe they got her out of that hospital and are taking her home. He twists the wedding band on his ring finger to bring the truth home. He has a family now and he has no idea what to do about it. 

He tilts his face up to the sky. It’s spitting rain and he is glad for it. This, he can wrap his mind away. What's waiting for him in Baltimore is a whole other can of worms. Hannibal’s shoulders brush against his, not enjoying getting his hair frizzed up and his clothes damp as much.

Will has noticed this a lot lately. How closely Hannibal stands to him. How the ocean of contact he’s maintained has now become but a stream. 

“Is this real, Hannibal?” Will finds himself lost in the depth of Hannibal’s dark gaze.

“If you want it to be,” Hannibal replies. He realizes he is being glib and changes tact. “Do you want it to be?”

“I do,” Will responds, thoughtful. “We have a daughter now. We have to build a life together, for her.”

Hannibal holds out his hand, palm up, and Will considers Hannibal's matching band. Will places his hand in Hannibal’s. 

Will does not shy away from Hannibal’s eyes. He is struck speechless by the promises he sees in them. How much Hannibal wants this, too. 

“Let's go home," Hannibal states, as if it's the most natural thing in the world. As they did not thrust themselves into this for all the platonic reasons there could be. With Hannibal's connections, the observation process for her pending adoption would happen at the end of the month.

“What if she doesn’t want me there?” Will panics. Or trying desperately not to. 

“She’ll adjust," Hannibal insists, gently. "Will you?”

Will considers how long it will take to box up his meager belongings and get the dogs squared away in new homes. 

“A week. Two at the most,” Will finally concedes.

“Good. I’m going to hold you to that,” Hannibal smiles. Will exhales. This is a lot. Hannibal squeezes his hand, reassuringly. “Come.”

Hannibal begins to cross the tarmac. Will remains behind. 

“What is this, exactly, Hannibal – to you?” Will calls after him. 

Will stands in place, despite Hannibal pivoting and taking these menacing steps towards him. Their eyes are locked on each other. Hannibal is inches from his face. 

“What do you see?” Hannibal shoots back.

Will looks. He gets a little lost before he even gets in it. The taste he gets makes him dizzy.

“It’s too much,” Will mutters. He is finding it difficult to breathe. So Hannibal spells it out: "I am your husband. Abigail is our daughter. And we should get her home." 

Will presses his hands against Hannibal’s chest and feels his heartbeat. Strong, sure, dependable. He tucks his head against Hannibal’s neck and breathes him in. Relieved. 

Hannibal draws him closer. Tentative, even now. 

“We’ll take it slow,” Hannibal promises.

“Okay,” Will exhales again. 

Will doesn’t know when Hannibal guided him onto the plane, and when his glass of champagne arrived on the seat rest between them, but the plane is airbound and they are hovering above Baltimore, waiting for the clearance to land. Outside his window, the sun has appeared and sets on the horizon, like a beacon of hope, like a lightbeam into the future.

He sees Abigail stretched out before them and Hannibal holds his hand to his right, and they may even share a smile. When he turns back to the window, bracing himself for landing, the sky has darkened and the lights of Murderland blink below. 

He knows this much. He has made his part of the world right somehow. To the truth and all its consequences.


	2. Sunset

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will is a shy boy. Hannibal knows just what is needed to push him in the right direction.

When Will arrives in the lab to check in, he can’t help but notice the large vase of couture flowers on a steel table. He immediately assumes they’re for Beverly and is happy for her.

In Minnesota, Jack had taken the BAU team all out to dinner the night they found Elise Nichols, to properly introduce them to Will, and Will remembers that Zeller had mentioned Beverly’s boyfriend moving in with her recently. Playing big brother to her. As if he had wanted Will to be clear that he were to remain In the friendzone.

Zeller looks between them now and nudges Price to glance up too. Will gives them a faint head-nod, ignoring them to approach Beverly.

He teases her as she bends over her keyboard. “See, you’re training him right,” he finishes the joke she started from their Minnesota dinner. Confused, she follows his gaze, which falls on the expensive, custom-designed, artfully-arranged bouquet.

“Oh no,” Beverly crows, delighted. “Those aren’t for me.”

The denial is out of his mouth before he can stop it and Beverly is already holding out the card to him. His name is addressed on the envelope: Will Graham. He looks at it, numb. 

Will can’t help the groan that escapes his lips, he lets his mouth gape open. The flowers are a thing of beauty and the thought that he was gifted this crashes onto him like a wave and leaves him a little breathless. 

And right away he knows. He knows it’s Hannibal.

And the whole team stands in front of him, waiting. “This has to be a mistake,” Will manages, biding some time. He had woken this morning, knowing he was going into work, and left his wedding ring underneath his pillow. 

“You seeing someone, Will?” Zeller needles.

“Secret admirer?” Price presses.

Will covers his eyes. All he can see is how Hannibal had looked at him from the moment they met. What this message is clearly telling him now. He tears open the envelope to confirm it for himself.

“Tell me it’s not a student” – “A student couldn’t afford flowers like these” – “Definitely not something you pick up at Giant” – among other observations that are lobbed around. Beverly is pointing out to the whole lab that this florist’s best designs start at $400. Bets are being taken at how much this went for. Price is swearing the flowers had to cost around $800. 

Will reads the message. “Good Will,” it begins, “Life can be a mystical journey, by land, by sea, or the in-between. My rooms now hold promise to resemble more of a home. As your family is here for you. Always, Hannibal and Abigail.”

A sunburst expands in his chest where it hurts. The earth moves which explains why he feels so off-kilter. He sees stars. He clutches the note close and manages to school his features. He faces the quizzical looks on their faces. 

“It’s from Abigail,” Will tells a half-truth. “She’s recovering at Hannibal’s.”

Less is more, he figures. He watches as the awkwardness increases and finally they return to their previous tasks. It will only become a problem later, because Hannibal will continue to send him fresh flowers every week.

 

|||

 

Hannibal and Abigail are there when he arrives at home. Abigail gets swept up in the dogs greeting him and Will finds Hannibal’s gaze fixed on him. 

“Hello, Will,” Abigail mumbles. He gives her a small grin in return. They dance awkwardly around each other as Will makes his way to the kitchen, as if drawn to the smell emanating from that room.

“Couldn’t stay in a moment more,” Hannibal explains and turns back to the stove as if he owns it.

Will wonders if the gesture of Hannibal showing his backside and bending over the oven was intentional. Flustered, he looks away and walks back to the front door.

Will locks the dogs in the house until he can safely bring in the flowers. He finally has burned off enough energy where he can be in the same room as Hannibal again. In the drive home, he was all set to yell at Hannibal, but now that they’re face to face, Will can’t bring himself. Instead, he brushes his shoulder against his.

“Thank you for the flowers,” Will mumbles. “What’s for dinner?”

“Duck confit with cherry sauce, roasted fennel and walnut salad,” Hannibal explains “Dessert of course chocolate mousse.”

It sounds… romantic. Will is shooed out of his own kitchen and introduces Abigail to all the dogs, to the sound of her laughter and the dogs’ begging for attention. It is almost too easy.

 

|||

 

After the incredible dinner and dessert, Abigail needs to rest. Will asks Hannibal to go for a walk with the dogs.

The sun is setting. The light is glinting off the stream. The woods darken around them and the dogs dart through the brush. 

Will and Hannibal reach the banks of the stream, a pleasant silence between them. The dogs catch up or dash off, splashing between them.

Hannibal turns towards him, pretending to be shy. Will blushes. 

“I have returned your romantic gesture with this,” Will gestures at the way the fading rays of sunlight are falling onto the stream. He speaks as if he’s failed Hannibal somehow while Hannibal hears nothing but victory.

“It’s incredibly romantic, Will,” Hannibal supports, looking into his eyes.

Hannibal steps closer, in his space. He leans in and brushes his nose against Will’s curls, inhaling. He has the look of a man who needs this like air, as Hannibal breathes him in. Will side-eyes him.

“I feel like I’ve been fed a fantasy,” Will accuses him.

Hannibal molds his body as close to Will as he allows. He hums, the rumble against his chest pushing him to explain. 

“It shouldn’t be this easy, Hannibal,” Will insists. Hannibal pulls his gaze away from Will’s mouth and tries to focus on the wall of resistance that has flared up between them. 

“What’s not easy –“

“Me!” Will bellows. “Am I that easy to read, to psychoanalyze? How did you know how much I wanted something like this?”

Hannibal begins to protest, blustering in his frustration, unable to pinpoint exactly where he went wrong, when Will bunches his fists into his lapel. The touch is at once rough and demanding and despite what Hannibal reads into it, he will let Will set the pace.

“If I have somehow rushed –“ Hannibal backs off.

“No, no,” Will laughs, realizing how he’s coming off. He laughs at himself and draws out a hint of a smile from Hannibal. Hannibal looks so… worried over this delicate, electric thing between them. He puts his hand over Will’s, along his lapel. He doesn’t want this gap to widen between them.

They both take a breath. They are in perfect sync with each other. Lungs. Heartbeat. Hands entwined. Eyes locked only on each other. If they could stay in this moment forever, with the sound of the stream flowing, the sun setting the light in gold around them, they would. 

This is my husband, Hannibal wants to shout to the woods so that no one would dare intrude. But when he looks down at the way Will’s hand is clawing and pulling at his jacket, as if he heard him, as if he’s gasping for air being Hannibal has possessed even his very breath, he notices Will’s ring is not on his finger. Maybe Will is right. Whatever started between them should not be this easy.

Hannibal, as much as it pains him, steps back. His chest is heaving from the effort. He notes the shock of loss on his face and realizes that Will is only mirroring him. Even more shocking, Hannibal’s heart rate is peaking. Clearly, the sudden loss of Will is too much, and while he craves his closeness, he keeps his distance. Will needs to come to him.

“Shall we go back? Before it gets dark?” Hannibal tilts his head up at the sky. The night is coming on fast. And he will not impose on Will to spend it together.

Will stumbles towards him, bereft too. You’re too far away, he wants to cry out, but instead whistles for the dogs to follow them back home.

 

|||

 

Franklyn takes his seat before Hannibal, who is still frayed around the edges. Replaying Will’s apology and the chaste kiss given at his doorstep only the night before.

Hannibal had believed he had tasted the finest wine and food in the world. And maybe even cooked the dish himself. Until that moment when Will Graham said his goodbyes. 

And then he knew, he knew, there was no comparison to Will’s lips. If he were sure he’d see Will tonight, he wouldn’t have to sustain himself on the nectar of that memory. He is scheming for another taste, another touch –

Apparently from the look on his face, Franklyn has been talking and is now expecting a response. Hannibal tries to compose himself, shifting in his seat and crossing his legs. 

Franklyn points at the ring on Hannibal’s finger. “You’re not even going to deny it?”

Hannibal shrugs. “I have no reason to, but my marriage is no concern –“

“My therapist gets married and I’m the only one to notice? It wasn’t even in the society papers. Is that what your cancellation was about? Dr. Lecter, I deserve an explanation.”

Franklyn rises, prowling towards him. Hannibal wants to laugh at the sheer audacity of Franklyn playing at being the lion in the room, but then he considers how far this can go and where he could take it and he allows something awful to happen. 

He spreads his legs and the sight causes Franklyn to stumble into his lap. He is like a virgin fumbling with his jock strap from that point on. He tries to get his bearings and grips Hannibal’s knee to do so. 

“Are you pinning me, Franklyn –“

“No, no –“

Hannibal presses his weight back, as if frightened. “Let me go... Please.”

Franklyn’s frantic movements and Hannibal’s tilting send his chair toppling over. Franklyn is indeed pinning him at this point. He looks absolutely frightened by this. He takes in that he is on top of his handsome doctor, who is writhing under him and he freezes until Hannibal swings and punches and scratches. They wrestle and tumble until Hannibal is on top, his hands around his throat. It slowly dawns on Franklyn that if he doesn’t fight back, Hannibal will not let him go. 

Later, when Jack pulls Hannibal aside, Hannibal will explain how his patient attacked him and that all along he had thought Jack was investigating Franklyn for attacking his therapists. An investigation is opened and Jack will send agents to Franklyn’s house and Will comes to his.

It is with such relief that Will is firmly entrenched in his home, sitting by the fireplace, with Hannibal curled in his lap, nursing his busted lip and swollen eye. When Will licks along the cut on his lip, Hannibal sighs with relief. He has tasted bliss and he has no intention of being without it ever again.

Hannibal strokes his face. “You’ll stay here tonight?” Will drinks in the want on Hannibal’s face It scares him. But he acquiesces. They discuss the future then. Hannibal will go to his therapist and reopen his practice in a few days. Sit in a room where violence was focused on him and promote healing in other patients. 

Will grips Hannibal’s sweater tightly and Hannibal is forced to look at him. “No, Hannibal,” Will insists. “No more therapy. I don’t want you to see anyone else.” This is music to Hannibal’s ears. “You would isolate me to you as my only patient?” Will smiles. Reminds him he’s not Hannibal’s patient. And then kisses him fully so Hannibal is only left to hum in agreement. There is only room for Will Graham in his life now. And he’s fine with that.


	3. A Flood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal has a delayed reaction to being married, once he wakes up to Will having spent the night in his home.

Will is the first thing he thinks of when he opens his eyes in the morning. He can barely bite back the name escaping his lips. He aches for him. 

As if hearing his thoughts, Will emerges from the bathroom with Hannibal’s first aid kit. He slides into bed and they reach for each other at the same time. Hannibal chuckles into Will’s hairline, comforted by just the smell of him. Amazed that he’s allowing this intrusion and that Will is moving about like he belongs here too.

It isn’t until Will strokes the cut on his lips and leans in for a good morning kiss, he sees that Will is wearing his wedding ring and something in him short circuits.

Will notices, of course. He notices everything. 

“I guess we should talk about this,” Will smiles. “The whole husbands thing.”

“As I told you in Minnesota, a marriage of convenience is acceptable to me,” he swallows. “You were honest about Alana – “

“Not really.”

Hannibal stops breathing for a moment. Will has that effect on him. 

“She doesn’t even trust herself to be alone in a room with me. And I’ve never pressed for that myself.”

“Will, sometimes a shared traumatic experience can foster a bond between the parties involved…”

“Is this considered a party? You being attacked by a patient?”

“Abigail,” Hannibal exhales. He had almost forgotten about her living in the guest room of his house. Now that he thinks of her he can’t remember the last time he checked on her wounds. He has been so wrapped up in watching Will attend to his own. 

He pushes forward. “If she’s the reason you’re in my bed…” Hannibal struggles not to allow himself to fray any more than he has in the past few days. But Will must see how unacceptable that is to Hannibal.

Will places a reassuring hand on Hannibal’s shoulder. He leans his forehead against Hannibal’s. The intimacy of this gesture is overwhelming.

“I know that’s what I said when I proposed,” Will forces the words out that seem stuck on his tongue. For that choking sound, for the dryness, Hannibal wants to cut it off and consume it whole, but later, he will settle on sucking on it and making Will squirm with pleasure and not pain. “But that wasn’t true either.”

He settles his gaze to capture Hannibal’s, eye to eye. “While I’m pissed that he even laid a finger on you, and so grateful that you got the better of him, your patient was right about one thing. We should make an announcement about our marriage. Have a dinner party. Let the world know this is our daughter and our dogs and our homes and you’re mine and I’m yours and all that. The thought of losing you, of losing this thing that hasn’t even gotten started yet…” Will draws him closer, shuddering. Wrapped in his embrace, in what is undeniably a shared feeling, makes Hannibal shudder too. “I need you, Hannibal, in my life. As my husband. I know things are happening very fast between us, but I want to be with you because of you. Not because of Abigail or that dead guy whose name I won’t mention.”

This moment sears into memories that he had long vanquished to the gallows of his mind. It hits the exact spot where he thought he would never be loved. That he was content with being alone. That he was above social exclusion. He was the exclusion and society would bow to him. All the hiding he had done has apparently been for naught.

And something begins to happen. His shudders become shakes and his eyes begin to stream with tears. He begins to cry in earnest as Will tightens his arms around him. 

“I love you, Hannibal,” Will murmurs against his ear.

And then there’s no elegant way to put it. Hannibal begins to bawl. It is a most strange experience to him. He knows without question that he will not make it to Bedelia’s today. He will be lucky to refer all his clients to other therapists. He may have to send Abigail to Port Harbor to get the care she needs. 

It’s strange to admit, but he is overwhelmed.

Hannibal checks in with himself. He feels a bit dizzy. His thoughts are foggy. His temple and cheeks are heated and throbbing too. He wonders if he has a concussion from the blows Franklyn managed to land. Or if he’s coming down with something.

And then the wrecking ball slams into him that is Will Graham who is crying with him and is touched by the grief and the disbelief he feels through his empathy. Maybe it’s his narcissism, but seeing Will wrapped in the cloak of his pain is the sweetest champagne. He is drunk on it. 

“We are family,” Will promises. “I’ll be at your side, in everything.”

They are clinging to each other. Hannibal hopes that Will is not speaking with a forked tongue this time. Because if he is, it will be the end of them both. He is so raw, so open and vulnerable that he doesn’t even try to tamp down these emotions as Will presses him down into the bed and kisses him senseless. 

Hannibal hears the gentle moans in surround sound and realizes they’re coming from his own mouth. He is succumbing to what – Will’s expert touch, the scratch of his beard – and then he feels his legs moving on their own and wrapping around Will’s waist. He hadn’t even had a chance to compose himself for the first onslaught and now Will has his teeth pulling at the frayed thread of his person suit and he can feel himself truly and completely aroused for the first time since he became a man in Florence…

He feels like he’s melting and he scrambles to maintain some control, but he’s suddenly close and yet so far away, and he digs his heels into Will’s back and his knuckles are white as he fists the sheets. He can see that Will is trailing kisses down his chest, over his heart… and that’s when he knows. Cupid has pierced his arrows and found its mark. 

He cries out again and Will’s name spills forth, over and over, like a flood freed from a dam. To know that Will loves him and he loves Will. And that what they started in Minnesota is not convenient at all. It is everything he wants and yet he doesn’t know what to do. Because it’s all Too Much at once.

In this sensory overload, Hannibal blacks out.


	4. Rough Air

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will opens an investigation into the attack on Hannibal.

The holidays sneak up on them, but Will still hasn't had much luck finding new parents for his dogs. Truth be told, the dogs have been a big help with Abigail and lifting her spirits. And maybe she's been conspiring with him to hang on to as many of his dogs as possible. 

When she's not out walking them, she's at Hannibal's office, helping him pack up and delivering patient records to their newly referred doctors. Hannibal spends most of his time house hunting. Determined to make a completely new start for the three of them in the new year.

Abigail returns from her errand to pick up Hannibal at his office and hit the road to Wolf Trap before the traffic gets ridiculous. The two of them are walking out the patient exit when first Hannibal's head is slammed into the brick wall. She seems him sprawled out on the floor, and for the first time since she's been brought to Baltimore, she's scared in the way she used to be at home. Those fears that she thought she'd left behind... Well, that security she feels around Hannibal and Will disappears and the old storm begins brewing again. 

And then her head cracks against the brick and she collapses in a heap beside Hannibal.

 

| | |

 

A spotlight from the stage becomes its own snake of light over the seats. It lasers in on Will and becomes whiter and brighter than anything his brain can process, swiveling back and forth, clawing his face, his cheeks, his eyes. 

It feels like his corneas are on fire. His clutches his head, as if it were possible to shield himself from the beacon. 

All forward movement grinds to a halt. The heat of it freezes him. 

In his crouch, he feels a familiar hand wrap around his, concerned brown eyes meeting his, and the crushing realization that he is cracking in a million pieces and he doesn’t know who he is anymore. 

His head is pounding, he manages to think, as the beacon widens into the dull light of a living room. His lungs expand. He’s able to breathe on his own. He takes in the empty chair across from him. The rug. The herb garden shelved in the wall. It relaxes him for some reason. It’s not home, nor is it familiar, but it reminds him of -- 

He starts as heels click, heading towards him. A blonde woman approaches. She is uneasy, he realizes, by his presence. Her fingers kneading the familiar curve of her skirt. And then her armchair as she takes the seat across from him. 

“You must be Will Graham,” she states. 

He’s relieved it’s obvious to her. 

“Did Hannibal send you?” she tilts her head at him, curious.

“Dr. Lecter,” he corrects. 

Hostility radiates from him as he notes that it radiates from her. He does not like that she’s casual with her familiarity to Hannibal. It feels like a slap in the face. 

“Dr. Lecter,” she soothes, chastened. “Is there something I can do for you, Mr. Graham?”

She glances over her shoulder at the door. She was expecting Hannibal any moment, and had left her door unlocked with the understanding that he occasionally lets himself in. They’re both aware of how preoccupied she leans with getting ready for him.

She catches the look Will gives her, as if he knows. As if he’s seen her upstairs meticulously applying her eyeliner, her lipstick, her concealer. The special selection of lace panties she wears just for these days. How it takes her breath away to see a well-dressed man walk through her front door, after a hard day’s work, rakish in his suit and tie. It does something to her just thinking about it. About Hannibal. 

She sighs and clasps her hands in her lap. Crosses her legs. She does not need to get defensive about something Will could not possibly know. She straightens in her chair and tries to maintain her resting murderface. 

“I’m surprised you give that type of access to your patients, Dr. DuMaurier,” Will glares at her. He’s read her body language, the evidence if you will, quite well. 

“Patient,” she corrects, “considering who he is.” 

Will decides to psychoanalyze her. “The other night, he had returned from visiting you. He had been drinking. With you. And so he offered to do the same with me. I considered it a mild case of transference. He picked up your feelings for him and tested them out on – “

“Excuse me,” Bedelia stands abruptly, stunned. “Are you psychoanalyzing me?”

“I am,” Will freely admits. “It’s obvious to me your influence on him.”

He takes in her décor. Her controlled demeanor. The immaculate day wear. Even the way she raises her eyebrow.

“Why are you here, again?” she hisses.

He pauses. He doesn’t know the answer to that question. He searches for the thread to the larger thought that had been unraveling, that lead him here.

His eyes fall downcast and then he catches the glint of platinum on his ring finger. His hand flies to his mouth. He has to bite his lip to prevent a wail from escaping his throat. 

He exhales. He releases the ball of anger that has twisted his hand into a fist. He glares at her. 

“Dr. Lecter was attacked, along with his new secretary, Abigail Hobbs, last night.”

He watches her reaction. Far too calm. 

“Are they alright?”

“Sent for overnight observation to the hospital.”

“Why is this a federal investigation?”

“Abigail Hobbs’ involvement makes it so. We are looking into her contacts, but wanted to do the same for Dr. Lecter’s.”

They share a look.

“You should know, Mr. Graham, that the only person that he talks about during his sessions are you.”

Which makes you the prime suspect, she does not say. She doesn’t have to say it, because he knows. He knows he’s been losing time and it is strange that he wasn’t home when Hannibal and Abigail were attacked. 

His fist knots up at his side again. He can’t meet her piercing gaze. No one knows to ask Will his whereabouts last night because no one else knows about his living arrangements, but Dr. DuMaurier.

“And why am I the only topic of discussion, Doctor?”

“Hannibal is worried about you.”

It grates. The way she says his name. Haaannniibaaal. The insult escapes, without a filter, from hindbrain to foul mouth: “It must be lonely, seeing only one patient, who talks about only one thing. Where were you last night?”

They assess each other. Bedelia is utterly unmoored by Will’s insight. She wonders if this is how Hannibal feels in his presence. 

And Will is bowled over by her ability to adapt. He would be fascinated by her strength if he wasn’t in the ring with her already. He sees red, imagining the man they would be fighting over. Telling her that he will not let anyone stand between what is his. 

“Do you have any claim to him, Dr. DuMaurier, that I should be aware of? I will respect your wishes if so.”

“And what claim are you referring to?” she probes, annoyed. 

“What other claim is there?” Will shrugs. “For a person who struggles with the concept of relationships, figuring out that they may have been rejected in their only relationship.”

His fingers twist against the seat cushion, forced to consider that she may not have faced the truth, even to herself. And now she cannot deny it. Not by how pale her skin has become, imagining a life, less alone. 

“You’ll tell me if I’ve overstepped,” Will presses.

Bedelia swallows, reeling. Her hands flutter to her stomach. So often she’d felt this stabbing sensation as Hannibal’s hour approached. She hadn’t realized, until this moment, she had starved the week for him and then feasted at the sight of him. Her subconscious had known how forbidden that is, how dangerous it would be and yet – yet – the ache was there regardless.

“For love to be claimed, it would have to be mutual,” she fights back tears. She will not give Will Graham this too. “And I’m afraid I know where I stand with Hannibal.”

She rises. Unsteady on her feet. Will rushes up to lend support, but she pulls away from him. She wants to call her lawyer. This conversation is over.

Back at Quantico, when Will debriefs Jack, Jack wants to question why it seems like Will is going down the list of all the psychiatrists Hannibal knows. But considering Will’s closing rate, he’s not going to attack his methods now. 

Jack gives the okay to bring Alana Bloom in for interrogation.


End file.
